Introspection
by Liselle129
Summary: A oneshot expounding Mr. Darcy's state of mind after Elizabeth Bennet rejected his proposal.  Rating is more for vocabulary than content.


Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I don't actually know who has the rights to it now, if anyone.

Author's Note: I was watching the BBC adaptation of this book and thought it might be interesting to explore what Mr. Darcy was thinking and feeling after being rejected by Elizabeth and what led him to write the lengthy letter of explanation. This has probably been done before, but this is my interpretation. I meant to use English spelling to get the "flavour," but since my spellcheck and autocorrect features use American English, it seemed like too much trouble.

**Introspection**

Mr. Darcy left the Hunsford parsonage in a state of high dudgeon. Knowing that he would not be fit company for anyone for quite some time, he resolved to take a turn around Rosings Park before returning to the house. His pace was rapid, and his right hand gripped his walking stick so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

His foremost emotion was anger. Was there ever such an ungrateful, impudent woman? Had she never learnt to guard her tongue? To think that he had actually persuaded himself that Miss Bennet not only expected but desired him to ask for her hand. How deluded he had been! It all became clear now – when she'd so particularly mentioned her favorite walk, it had been under the assumption that they both wished to avoid one another, not in hopes that he would join her every day. How blind could he have been?

Gradually, his vexation began to work itself out, aided by the brisk exercise, and he was able to think about the matter more rationally. His pace slowed, and before long, he stopped, taking in deep breaths of the country air.

It did not really help matters to know that Mr. Darcy had largely brought this upon himself. He could have left after Miss Bennet's initial refusal. It would not have been an ideal or pleasant situation, to be sure, but he would have been spared the abuse he'd received when requesting an explanation. He was honest enough to recognize that his anger was mainly fueled by the pain of rejection and the apparent hopelessness of his situation. A man more inclined to deceive himself might have congratulated himself upon avoiding such an imprudent match, might have rejoiced in escaping such a sharp-tongued wife.

Mr. Darcy, however, could not be happy. Perversely, as much as he might wish to deny it, Miss Bennet's rejection only caused him to love her still more. While he recognized her as his equal in wit and sense and desired her as a lifelong companion for these traits, he had not treated her as such. He had instead addressed her as an inferior scarcely worthy of his notice who ought to be flattered by his attentions. He had assumed that his wealth and social position would be enough to gain her acceptance, as it no doubt would have been for any other young lady of his acquaintance. Yet if she had agreed to marry him, while holding the opinion of his character she had so fully expressed, he would assuredly have thought less of her. This was a creature who would only marry where affection lay, and he was forced to concede that he had done nothing to secure that. Even while seeking her out more often than was wise, he had spoken little, given her no indication of his feelings.

_Good Lord, I've been behaving like a besotted schoolboy, _he realized with a shock. The majority of his time had been spent either staring at her from across the room or struggling against his ever-growing fondness for her. His face burned with shame that a grown man, the master of a vast estate and descendant of an ancient family, should act so. He had never expected to be so bewitched by a woman. To think that it was the daughter of a country squire who had been the undoing of the seemingly untouchable Mr. Darcy!

Now a little recovered from the initial displeasure, Mr. Darcy resumed his walk and recounted the interview in reverse, determined to discover whether there were any justice in Miss Bennet's accusations. She had called him proud, arrogant, and selfish.

Was he proud? He supposed that he was, and he had never (before today) considered pride to be the sin that it was so often proclaimed. False pride was something he abhorred, along with its companion, false modesty. When one had accomplished something, should one not take pride in it? Humility was admittedly the one Christian virtue that had never come easily to him. He reflected that he must inform the Lambton vicar, upon returning home, that Miss Elizabeth Bennett was the greatest cure for pride that he had yet encountered. He certainly felt much humbled this day.

Very well then, he would not deny the pride, but the arrogance? He did not believe himself arrogant. He rather assumed that the reserve he displayed among strangers could be readily interpreted as arrogance. This much, he would acknowledge. And yes, he was selfish, as well. He had addressed her today thinking only to end his own suffering. He had given no thought whatsoever to her feelings on the matter.

Then there was the manner in which he had addressed her. Had she really called him ungentlemanlike? That was, perhaps, the very last accusation he could ever have imagined being directed at him, and the mere fact that the idea occurred to Miss Bennet shamed him greatly. It might be the case that he had expounded too freely upon the inferiority of her connections and the how unsuitable she was as a wife. She'd said he was the last man in the world she could be prevailed upon to marry (and he doubted those words would soon fade from his memory), and he'd initially thought such an expression unnecessarily cruel. However, had he not, in essence, been telling her that she was the very last woman he should be choosing to marry? That he was only asking because his feelings had run away with him, forcing him to dispense with all rational considerations? That could not have been well received.

On the other hand, she could not be insensible that the impropriety displayed by her mother and younger sisters must reflect poorly on the family as a whole. Mr. Darcy had said nothing that was not true, yet perhaps there was such a thing as too much truth. Indeed, his sister and cousin, and even occasionally Mr. Bingley, had been known to chide him on this point.

Then, too, Mr. Darcy's family was not without blemish. In an attempt to put himself in Miss Bennet's place, he tried to imagine someone addressing his sister Georgiana in such a manner: _Miss Darcy, I love and admire you and desire to marry you, in spite of your brother's overweening pride and your aunt's officious and interfering nature…._ No, it would not have done. If Georgie had not been offended, Mr. Darcy would have been on her behalf. Such expressions about a lady's family, no matter how accurate, were hardly the way to win her favor.

Finally, of course, there were Miss Bennet's allegations related to his conduct. On the subject of Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy knew that Miss Bennet's accusations were completely without merit. However, she had no way of knowing that, having only Wickham's account of events. Knowing what he did of the other man's character, Mr. Darcy could guess what the narrative contained: enough truth to lend a sense of verisimilitude, along with deceit enough to plead his own case.

When it came to the point of his separating Mr. Bingley from Miss Bennet – Miss Jane Bennet, that is – Mr. Darcy found he was less secure. He had been certain that he was reading the situation right and could not, even now, regret the actions he had taken. Miss Elizabeth, however, had been clearly convinced that Miss Bennet's attachment had been deep and genuine. Surely, she knew her sister better than he could, so he may have been in error. If this were true, he could understand that, having somehow learned of his involvement in the affair, filial devotion would demand that she despise him for interfering in her sister's life. He could not think less of Miss Elizabeth for such sensibility.

Mr. Darcy had never viewed himself as a romantic, yet he felt convinced that he should never find a better partner than Miss Elizabeth with whom to share his life, not if he were to search the entire earth. It was not just her beauty and vivacity, though those traits had early drawn him to her. No one else in his life had ever addressed him with such frankness, and he must own that he needed that to counter his own faults. She was intelligent and sensible. All through the long months in Town, he had thought of her often. When he met new people, or even interacted with old acquaintances, he longed to hear her opinion of them. While visiting places he'd long since come to take for granted, he desired to show them to her, introducing her to sights she had likely never seen. In short, he wished to share every aspect of his life with her.

_These are the things you should have told her, Fitzwilliam, _he could almost hear Georgiana's voice in his mind. _Not all that nonsense about her family and the unsuitability of the match._

"Too late, dear sister," he murmured aloud. "Your advice comes too late."

He was almost to the house now, and he knew what he must do. Although this might very well mark the end of their association, he could not support Miss Elizabeth thinking so ill of him. He must endeavor to explain himself. Clearly, he could not do so in person. Even if he did not despair of his finding suitable words when she stood before him, he could not be assured that she would stand and listen, particularly after this evening. There was nothing for it; he must write her a letter and hope that she would read it.

Mr. Darcy told himself that it was not only her good opinion that he sought; it was also his duty to relate the events that had transpired between himself and Mr. Wickham. Miss Elizabeth had spoken quite warmly of Mr. Wickham, which disturbed Mr. Darcy extraordinarily. If one of her sisters or – heaven forbid! – Miss Elizabeth herself were to be drawn in by Mr. Wickham's undeniable charms, the results would be disastrous for everyone involved. As none of the Bennet ladies could claim any fortune, Mr. Wickham's intentions for them could not be honorable. Therefore, painful as it must be, Mr. Darcy would recount every particular and appeal to her judgment to divine the truth of it.

There was yet one thing more, however, which he resolved upon after making his excuses and sitting down to write the most difficult missive he had ever yet penned. If Fate should once again throw Miss Elizabeth Bennet into his path, he would do things properly. He would show her that he was capable of correction, that her words had not fallen on deaf ears. Moreover, if there were any chance at all for redemption, he would court her in earnest, treating her with the respect that she deserved and his admiration demanded.

Her words had held the ring of finality…but the man she'd rejected was _not _the man he was. He was utterly convinced of that, and if the opportunity presented itself, he'd discover a way to prove it to both of them. And though he found the idea insupportable at present, in the event that Providence did not see fit to favor him, he must prepare to give her up.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: I originally came up with enough material to write about two stories of this length, but I eventually decided that much of it was irrelevant and confined myself to this much. Please tell me what you think!<p> 


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